Love Potions (6 page)

“Oh, aye.”

“No.”

“Aye, she is.”

“Ya do not say!”

“Euann!”

“Sorry.” Euann gave a sheepishly apologetic shrug. “Did she have to touch ya for a long time? Does she know? What’s it feel like? Being sucked of energy like that?”

Sucked?

Remembering her sweet lips, so close to wrapping around him, Erik wanted to groan.

“Ach.” Erik waved his hand in dismissal. Absently, he drew his finger over the air, swirling up dust from the fireplace mantle and tossing it aside. It happened to land on his brother’s shoes. Euann jerked, grumbling and cursing as he leaned over to dust them off. With his brother sufficiently distracted for the moment, Erik took a deep breath and shut his eyes. Every fiber of his being had been on edge for days, causing an ache to settle in his joints only to be outdone by the constant nagging of his lust.

As his
inthrall
, Lydia was susceptible to Erik’s powers to the point she would be able to absorb them freely if he wasn’t on his guard. Just one touch and she could leech his life force and leave him for dead. Usually it had to be just the right combination of warlock and human for the bond to work. Such a woman was rare, and she wouldn’t be susceptible to just any warlock, though she would normally be quite sensitive and perceptive to the other warlocks’ feelings.

“She have any of those dreams Uncle Raibeart goes on about?” Euann waggled his brows with meaning, finally giving up on dusting his shoes manually. He swiped his hand, whisking the dust aside with magick.

Erik’s expression must have answered for him because Euann laughed. Lydia had been fantasizing about him to the point she nearly drove him insane with it. It had taken four days for his energy to weaken inside her enough that he could go and visit her without fear she would throw him across the town in a gust of wind, and thus cause a scene. Although, getting run out of town after one day would be a new MacGregor record.

“I don’t know whether to feel pity or jealousy,” Euann admitted. “She’ll not use it against ya, will she?”

“My first instinct said no. But when I went to her house, it was protected by magick. I couldn’t go in without verbal invitation. She didn’t give me one.”

“She practices?” Euann questioned, surprised. Not many humans practiced the old craft anymore, at least not in any way that actually worked.

“I don’t know, but I’m going to find out,” Erik responded. “If she’s an
inthrall
, it’s possible she cast a spell to become one. She’s not of natural magick like us, but some things can be learned. There could be a reason we’ve felt the pull to stay here.”

“Be careful around her until we discover what she is about,” Euann warned. “Ya want me to go check it out?”

“No.” Erik experienced an almost selfishly dark urge inside himself. Lydia was his, and he didn’t want his brother anywhere near her. What if it was a spell? What if she had the same effect on Euann? Erik didn’t want to fight his brother over a woman. Under most circumstances, he wouldn’t. But with Lydia, he felt an animalistic possessiveness. “I plan on doing another binding spell to keep my powers veiled.”

Euann nodded, giving him a strange look. “Fine. But I’ll leave myself open to ya tonight. If ya have need of me, I’ll feel it.”

“Aye, but no more of your gadgets,” he warned.

“Och, ya are no fun,” Euann pouted. Then, giving his brother a careless grin, he added, “I’ll just have to entertain myself tonight by listening to the tapes I made of your brilliant performance. Did ya know I can email the audio file to the rest of the family?” Thickening his burr, he poked fun of Erik’s earlier blunderings with Lydia, “It’s a bribe to get ya to go out with me tonight, lassie. No? Ya don’t want to? Then, I’ll have to make ya with my—”

Erik needed no more excuse. He lunged for his brother, fist pulled back to give him the fight he’d been searching for.

…

This is crazy.

Lydia studied her reflection in the mirror as Charlotte watched. How in the world did she let her friend talk her into going on this non-date date with Erik, let alone putting on a dress for it?

“You are not going to change,” Charlotte said from the bed, as if reading Lydia’s mind.

Lydia’s frowned deepened. The silk dress was simple, yet elegant. Small rhinestones accented the straps and a long sash tied around the waist, knotting in the front. The low bodice was tight with a looser skirt flowing out from the high V shaped waistline.

Lydia eyed the short black skirt before looking at her legs. They were bare. She didn’t have pantyhose to put on. The night was warm, so maybe it was better if she didn’t wear any. “I don’t think this is the impression I want to make. I should wear a giant muumuu and call it good.”

“Why?” Charlotte grimaced.

“Because, I thought we agreed that the idea was to show him I wasn’t a whore. Under the circumstances, I’d say this dress screams hooker.”

“Whatever.” Charlotte rolled her eyes. “At the very most it says high-class call girl. Be sure you don’t undercharge and get the cash up front.”

“Ha, ha,” Lydia responded, her tone dry, “very funny.”

“So you almost gave the guy head,” Charlotte said, as if it were no big deal. “You’re an adult. He’s an adult—”

“You’re a—”

“Ah! No name-calling.” Charlotte laughed, hugging a lacy pillow to her stomach. “Don’t blame me because you can’t keep your tongue in your mouth.”

“I’m going to change,” Lydia announced, heading for the closet.

Charlotte sprang to her feet and blocked the door. Spreading her arms wide, she said, “No, you’re not.”

“Uh, yeah, I am.”

“No,” Charlotte ordered, her voice stern. “You’re not. In fact, you’re going to put on Gramma Annabelle’s pearls for good luck, you’re going to let me curl your hair while you put on makeup, and you’re going to go out with an incredibly delicious Scotsman to have a wonderfully good time tonight.”

“
Char
,” Lydia whined.

“
Lyd
,” her friend mimicked her.

“Fine.” Lydia backed away from the closet door and walked to the bathroom to get her makeup bag. It wasn’t fair to get irritated with Charlotte, but the truth was she was nervous. Inside, she shook with a myriad of emotions—fear, desire, anticipation.

Did she mention the fear?

“Don’t be like that.” Charlotte followed right behind her. “Really, it’s no big deal. Sure, it was a little…”

“Whorish? Slutty? Embarrassing?” Lydia offered, her cheeks a bright red as she looked in the bathroom mirror. Her grandmother would’ve been horrified to see how skinny she was. She was just too busy with the business that she sometimes forgot to eat. And now that she really looked, her skin was pale, maybe too pale.

“I was going to say fast.” Charlotte sighed, coming to her side. “You said the first moment he touched you, you felt him all the way to your toes. Maybe it’s love at—” Lydia shot her friend a hard look in the mirror, and Charlotte amended, “Maybe it’s
like
at first sight.”

“Do you think?” Lydia couldn’t help the small hope Charlotte’s words gave her. Maybe her friend was right. Maybe Erik really did want to take her on a date and get to know her. Wasn’t sexual chemistry something people wanted in a relationship? Just because she’d never felt desire so strongly didn’t mean it wasn’t normal. Maybe tonight he didn’t expect her to have sex with him at all.

Lydia frowned. And maybe ghosts and leprechauns really did exist.

Chapter Four

Erik grinned, revving the engine of his 1968 Mustang, as he backed away from the mansion. Evening shaded the surrounding trees, casting shadows over his path. Eight o’clock hadn’t come fast enough. After renewing the protective veil over his powers, he’d re-bound the beast inside him to keep it at bay. Sure, in many ways the precautions were overkill, but he decided he couldn’t be too careful where Lydia was concerned. A very animalistic part of him determined that if she were to try and make love to him again, they would not be stopped by her use of his powers.

His grin widened and he felt almost giddy. Putting the car into drive, he hit the gas, speeding down the long gravel road. For four days he tried not to think of her and for four days that’s all he’d done. Even the house preparations were behind schedule. With his energies down, they’d been unable to fix cracks in the plaster and a few antique portraits covered holes in the walls. At best he manually moved furniture around and cleaned. With as many rooms as the place had, it was a slow process. A night of sexual bliss in Lydia’s arms would do just the trick to get him rejuvenated.

That is, if it doesn’t kill me.

Erik’s excitement wavered as he reminded himself to keep his wits about him. With an
inthrall
he had to be careful or his death could be a very real possibility. Even so, he couldn’t wait for his date to start. He was going to wine and dine Lydia, romance and seduce her with every ounce of his MacGregor charm, and then he was going to thoroughly enjoy the fruits of his labor as he fucked her until sunrise.

It was all planned. Dinner at the best restaurant in town. A drive in his classic car—a vehicle women just loved. Then back to her house for an all-night love fest. He moved uncomfortably in his seat. Four days longing for her had definitely been too long a time. Shifting gears, he forced his foot to ease up on the gas as he drove down the hill to her house. It wouldn’t do for her to know he was overeager.

…

Lydia glanced over the dim silver and blue interior of the Mustang. Though a little on the loud side, the car suited a man like Erik. Notwithstanding the stereo system hidden in the opened glove box with the digital clock front, the car had been restored to classic condition.

Erik reached between them, grabbing the shifter as they came to the bottom of the hill. The car slowed to a stop. He looked over at her and confidently winked. She quickly turned away, focusing on the two thick white stripes painted down the center of the dark blue hood.

When the car started to move, she glanced back at him from the corner of her eyes. Erik rested his hand on his bare knee. Lydia took a deep breath. She could definitely say this was the first date she’d been on where the man was wearing a skirt.

Kilt,
she corrected herself.
It’s not a skirt, it’s a kilt.

And it was damned sexy on him.

On top he wore a basic white shirt, a black five button waistcoat, matching argyll jacket and a lighter wool tie. A black leather bag with silver studs wrapped his hips. Below the waist, the red and green plaid pattern fell to just above his bare knees. About three inches below the hem, longer kilt hose covered his calves.

“It’s called a sporran,” Erik said.

“Huh?” Lydia pried her eyes away from his waist, horrified to discover that she’d been staring at the man’s crotch again. Almost defensively, she said, “I wasn’t wondering what you wore under your kilt.”

“Ah, well that would be nothing at all, lassie,” Erik said, again winking at her, “but I was telling ya that the black bag you’re looking at is called a sporran.”

“Oh,” Lydia turned to the window, rolling her eyes as she mocked herself.

Great going, Lydia! Way to make him think you’re not a sex crazed whore. Wait. Did he just say he was naked under the kilt?

She peeked at him, trying to determine if he was teasing her or not.

Oh, great. It’s bad enough I can’t think straight around him, now he has to tell me he’s not wearing any underwear.

Was it too late to fake an illness and back out? Probably.

How about jumping out of the car to run home screaming?

Argh! Make conversation. Say something.

“So, do you wear your kilt often?” Lydia instantly wanted to die. What an American thing to ask. He probably got asked dim-witted things every time he had one on. Mumbling, she said, “Never mind, that was stupid.”

“I don’t think it’s a stupid question,” Erik said. “Aye, I wear the short kilt for special occasions. It’s just like putting on a pair of pants and can be a sight more comfortable on a warm night.”

“So are these your family colors, then?” Lydia asked, motioning to the plaid.

“Aye.” When he smiled at her, his whole face lit with pleasure. He really was handsome in a very arousing and rugged way. “Clan MacGregor has been wearing this same tartan since before the eighteen hundreds.”

Erik pulled the Mustang in front of a restaurant and shut off the engine. “This is Perfection Restaurant, isn’t it? I followed the directions they gave me, but it looks closed.” Erik frowned at the tinted front windows. “I don’t understand. I made reservations.”

“No, it’s open,” Lydia assured him. “Alana Davis, the owner, moved here three years ago and created quite the stir with her culinary talent. So much so, that she put a couple of the other restaurants in town out of business. Now, as retaliation, the two restaurant owners have gotten together and are trying to sabotage her business with a combined effort of their own. It’s turned into quiet the legendary feud. Since the two owners were born and raised here in Green Vallis, a lot of the townsfolk stopped eating at Alana’s out of loyalty to their own. It’s too bad. She really is the better chef.”

“Do ya want to go somewhere else?” Erik inquired. “I wouldn’t want to get ya on bad terms with the townsfolk.”

“No, I don’t really care what everyone else in town is doing.” Lydia smiled. “Besides, George, one of the rival owners used to tease me when we were in grade school together. I still haven’t gotten over it.”

Erik chuckled and stepped out of the car. The breeze whipped his kilt and she received an intimate peek at the back of his thigh. He hurried around the car and opened her door, offering his hand. Lydia hesitated before taking it. Warm, humming energy coursed through her veins. This time, the warmth was followed by the cold chill. She shivered, drawing her hand away.

“Are ya wearing…?” Erik leaned forward. “Is that lilies? Strange, I didn’t notice it earlier.”

“No.” Lydia tensed. She was wearing lavender, her favorite.

“Hm, curious.” Erik glanced around the dimly lit street. Just like the rest of the downtown area, the old buildings were squished closely together. Aside from a few parked cars, the streets were empty. He offered her his arm.

Lydia bit her lip. She didn’t really have a choice but to take his arm. As her hand slid against him once more the tingling became palpable, feeding into her veins and pumping around her entire body. He led her to the front door and opened it for her. Inside, Perfection’s lights were soft. The red and gold classic décor added an elegant charm that bespoke sophistication and class without being overly pretentious. Italian oil paintings and antiqued mirrors graced the walls. Rustic chandeliers hung overhead, matching the tall candelabras. Soft music created a lovely background. A grand piano was in one corner, but Lydia had never seen it played.

“Lydia, it’s so nice to see you again.”

Lydia smiled, turning to look at Alana as she spoke. The woman was thin, oddly so considering she was an Italian chef. Her red-brown hair had been pulled back into a high bun, and she wore a dark red apron that matched the restaurant. By the looks of the place, Alana was the only one working that night. Only three tables were filled with dining couples.

“Alana, this is Erik MacGregor. He just bought the old mansion,” Lydia introduced, using the moment to pull her hand away in hopes of severing the sexual connection now running rampant over her body. It didn’t work. “Erik, Chef Alana Davis.”

Lydia turned to see Erik’s eyes intently studying her ass, as he temporarily ignored Alana. She trembled, wondering what wicked thoughts danced through that brain of his. Drawing his gaze away with a sheepish grin, he gave the chef one of his most charming smiles.

“Pleasure,” he said, grinning.

As Alana and Erik made small talk about being new to a small town and the current business economy of a place like Green Vallis, Lydia couldn’t concentrate. Erik had smelled lilies. Even someone as skeptical as she was could admit when it was time to start paying attention to the signs around her. It was hard to admit though, since she’d spent most of her life trying to live down her grandmother’s “witch on the hill” reputation. It had been difficult growing up as the granddaughter to a self-proclaimed eccentric, but she wasn’t a child anymore. Maybe Gramma Annabelle knew a thing or two about what she’d always gone on about. There were a lot of unexplained things in the world.

Did her grandmother try to send her a message? The cold chills? The smell of lilies? The vat of lotion exploding moments before Erik came to the door. Was Gramma Annabelle really trying to warn her? Was there a reason why she’d acted so out of character with the handsome stranger in the mansion gardens? A spell, perhaps? She felt like she was under an enchantment just being near him.

That’s lust, pure and simple lust. I’m overworked and have gone without for too long. When the vat exploded I was tired and not paying attention. I had lily lotion all over. The scent could have lingered in my hair. The breeze stirred the smell.

Symptoms of stress made more sense than her dead grandmother talking to her from beyond the grave.

Alana led the way to a small round table in the corner, away from the other guests. Erik stepped aside, letting Lydia walk in front of him. Her legs stiffened, and she imagined he once again stared at her ass. She wasn’t surprised when he pulled out her seat for her. He did have the way of a gentleman about him.

Once seated, Erik ordered wine. Lydia didn’t hear what kind. She was too busy trying not to gaze at his handsome face, while imagining the many ways she could discreetly drop something on the floor to see if what he said about the underside of his kilt was true. Lydia was glad the linen tablecloth fell low over her lap to hide the fact that her legs shook. She forcefully pressed her thighs together, trying to bury all thoughts of his body being so assessable and yet never more distant. It wasn’t like she could really do anything to him right here.

Count my blessings
, she thought wryly.
If we were alone, I’d be in trouble.

“You’re quiet,
a stóirín
.” When Erik looked at her, she felt she was the only one in the room. The low light softened his features with a seductive contrast. His gaze held hers before slowly traveling down her throat to her breasts and back up again.

“Am I? I didn’t mean to be?” Lydia forced her mind to something other than carnal pleasures, relieved when her racing thoughts found a safe topic. “How’s the house coming along? Will you be hiring a maid service? I can imagine it was pretty dusty on the inside.”

“No. No service. My family likes to tend to all the details ourselves.”

Before she could inquire more Alana came back with the wine, poured their glasses and left the bottle. Lydia quickly took a sip, trying to hide the fact that she was again getting really hot and bothered by his steady gaze.

This is such a mistake. Whatever made me think that if this man came on to me, I’d be able to refuse him?

“So, where did ya learn magick?” Erik asked.

Lydia blinked in surprise, nearly choking on her wine. Trying to recover gracefully, she managed, “I’m sorry? Magick?”

“Aye, your Love Potions?” Erik grinned.

“Oh, Love Potions,” Lydia repeated, wanting to slap the side of her head. For a moment she thought he meant real magick. Why was her heart beating so fast? They hadn’t even ordered yet, and she was ready to run out of there—away from the very delectable Erik MacGregor.

He was looking at her expectantly. Lydia bit her lip. What had he asked?

“Ah, my grandmother was an, uh, herbalist, and she taught me everything I know about it. She started making lotions for tourists and locals and, before she died, I took the business over. Last year I put it on the internet.”

“Hm, I would have thought she was a witch,” Erik said.

Lydia stiffened, waiting for the ridicule and disdain that usually followed that statement. He must have gone into town and met up with some of the local busybodies. Or, knowing Mrs. Callister, the woman trekked up the hill to meet Erik for herself. Yet somehow, when Erik said the word “witch” it was as if he mentioned the weather—like having an eccentric in the family was an everyday occurrence. Perhaps in his travels, it wasn’t as odd as it appeared to the sheltered small town she grew up in. He watched her expectantly, his expression straightforward. Faintly, she said, “Some have called her that.”

“Then, she wasn’t?”

Thankfully Alana came back to take their orders, and Lydia was saved from answering. It took all of her willpower not to grab the woman’s hand and force her to join them. Without even reading over her options, she handed the menu to Alana. “You know what I like.”

Alana chuckled. “Yes, but I keep hoping you’ll try something else.”

“Why change what works? I like what I like.” Lydia grinned.

“I’ll have the same.” Erik handed his menu over without looking.

“Very good,” Alana answered, leaving them alone.

“But you don’t know what I’m getting,” Lydia protested.

“If ya like it that much, it can’t be bad.” Erik’s eyes sparkled, reflecting the candlelight in a way that it appeared as if they glowed from within.

Lydia felt her cheeks heating. Was she actually blushing—again? “For all you know, it could be snails.”

Erik actually looked worried for a moment. Then, smiling, he said, “Doesn’t matter.”

Lydia quirked a brow, trying not to laugh.